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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28017264">The Bug Collector</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/milky_mangoes/pseuds/milky_mangoes'>milky_mangoes</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Bullying, F/M, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Love Confessions, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Self-Insert, Slow Burn, Unhealthy Relationships, Unreliable Narrator, Unrequited Crush</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 21:33:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,756</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28017264</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/milky_mangoes/pseuds/milky_mangoes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Like a cold he couldn’t shake, you clung to him all throughout your younger years.  Why you, who dug their fingers into the disgusting dirt and caught ladybugs in a net outside your backyard, would ever form an affixation on a friendless germaphobe like him was a mystery.</p><p>Even after all these years, you still don’t get the hint that he doesn’t like to play with filthy mutts like you.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sakusa Kiyoomi/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>75</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Bug Collector</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Please let me know if you've enjoyed this and would want more!  I appreciate any feedback you guys give me (^０^)ノ</p><p>And as always, please be wary of the tags before reading!!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Even as children, Sakusa absolutely despised you.</p><p>He had watched you long before you ever stepped over the sacred sidewalk barring his front yard from the rest of that dingy neighborhood.  How could he not notice you, when you lived just across the street and always seemed to be outside digging in the mud after a strong rainfall, or splashing in puddles simply to get your trousers wet.  The filthy net you swung around looking for creepy critters made his skin crawl, fingernails digging harsh red lines into his skin as he watched you set free a captured ladybug from inside the safety of his living room window.</p><p>It was selfish of him to ignore the only other child in the neighborhood, yes, but quite frankly, he couldn’t care less how you or anyone else viewed him for his insensitivity.  Besides, prior to his cousin’s entrance into his early life, you had no idea a boy your age even lived in your same neighborhood.  And in the end, it would have been better that way.</p><p>Komori introduced two very key elements into his life, though Sakusa hated to admit the latter:  Volleyball, and you.  His cousin would come over to visit once a week or so, a date he begrudgingly agreed to have his parents set up.</p><p>Your first official meeting came on the same day Komori came to visit.  He brought with him a volleyball and an open-mind, and Sakusa responded with vague interest.  Unfortunately, the harsh, airy sound of the ball bouncing between the two young boys’ arms caught the attention of the lonely child across the street, and your naive boldness propelling you into their yard with a wave and a smile.</p><p>You and Komori hit it off immediately; your combined outgoing personalities meshed well together, making for good conversation (as good as conversation can be between two elementary students, that is), and sparkling friendship.  However, you seemed to instantly notice the quiet boy who clutched the volleyball between his hands like it would disappear if he let go, and immediately invaded his personal space with boyish ease.</p><p>That became a common occurrence—you frolicking over the lawn as soon as you see Komori and Sakusa emerge from the house, and worming your way into their dynamic.  You didn’t particularly care for volleyball, never once asking to come between their friendly tosses (and for that, Sakusa’s grateful—looking back, he doubts he could’ve touched a ball you’ve thrown without retching); instead, you settled for watching them both play with wide eyes, clapping when either managed what you perceived to be a nice hit.</p><p>When you got bored of watching volleyball, you would prance around in the lawn, kicking up clumps of grass and climbing the old sakura that rarely ever bloomed anymore.  Sometimes you bring that damned net over, just to see if the Sakusa residency had any interesting species of bugs that you could play with.<br/>
He would observe you out of the corner of his eye, never breaking that old habit of watching you as you dirty your dungarees in the soft ground and collect an absurd amount of soil underneath your nails.  He’s not sure why he finds a strange interest out of watching you, especially since you seem to only act in detestable ways when he finally has his eyes focused on you.  Old habits die hard, and the day you proudly brought a long-legged centipede in your bare hands to him, he can guarantee he wishes he had sobered sooner.  He doesn’t care if it's harmless, <i>you touched that disgusting creature with your bare hands—</i></p><p>The friendship the two of you formed was… one-sided, to say the least.  Despite how well you and Komori seemed to get along, you always gravitated to the quieter boy.  It’s as if you enjoyed torturing him with your presence, a fact that became even clearer when he began practicing volleyball outside of Komori’s playdates.</p><p>Unlike you, Sakusa had discovered a fixation with something worthwhile.  Improving his spikes, receives, and tosses were all at the forefront of his mind, and now matter how much you bugged him with your long-winded anecdotes and humorless jokes, he remained focused.  Still, his harsh words telling you to get lost at worst and his blatant ignorance of your mere presence at best never deterred you from seeing him.  You’d sit on the pavement with your chin in your hands, bug net tossed over your lap as you stared up at him with awe and admiration.  Of course you would be amazed at the talent he’s building; you had no other scope of measurement to compare it to.</p><p>By the time you both entered middle school, he hoped whatever interest you found in him would soon fade, and that you would find a friend group that actually cared about what you said.  Just his luck, you only managed to cling to the boy tighter, unaware of your own suffocating occupancy in his daily routine, thanks to Komori heading off to a different school.</p><p>Both as a distraction and a pursued passion, he threw himself into his volleyball training, joining the local club and working his way up the ranks to earn the respect of the entire team.  He didn’t need you as a friend when he had the entire volleyball club looking up to him, a young star ace among the middle school division, and a powerful force to be reckoned with.  Of course, with his ever growing skills and achievements in the sport, he managed to attract the eyes of many other students; just more attention on himself that he didn’t care for, and soon it felt like you were multiplying.</p><p>But, you remained the same, even when you both enrolled into Itachiyama Institute.  You changed physically of course, your body not immune from the effects of puberty, and you grew into a lovely figure with a youthful yet defined visage.  Your exuberant personality, overflowing with childlike innocence and an enthusiasm for adventure never faded.</p><p>Somehow, his tolerance of your constant presence and antics heightened as you aged, to the point where he almost expected you to be wherever he was at any given time.  The two of you would walk to school together, have class together, eat lunch together, and walk home together; the only thing you two separated for was volleyball practice, and even then he never seemed to miss you all that much.</p><p>Komori made you more tolerable as well, he decided.  With the reintroduction of the libero into the pair’s life, balance felt as though it had once again been restored.  The one-sided nature of yours and Sakusa’s conversations now had Komori’s energetic voice filling that empty void.  He would provide you with good conversation, more refined and appropriate for high school level teenagers, but could never capture your whole attention.  Always, always, you would ask for Sakusa’s input, his opinion, his thoughts on whatever idiotic discussion you seemed to have involved yourself in.  It made his eye twitch.</p><p>In hindsight, he should have seen your affection for him coming from a mile away.  You were too oblivious for your own good, or perhaps you only wanted to see the relationship you had with him from your rose-colored glasses.  Everyday, you offered to get him a drink or a snack from the vending machine, and even when he firmly denied your generosity, you would leave one on his desk or hand deliver it to him just before practice, where he’s forced to accept it with a two-fingered grip.  Komori lovingly berates the germaphobe for his cruelty towards you, remarking how it's such a waste for him to toss every act of kindness you’ve brought him into the garbage bin as soon as your back is turned.</p><p>He gets enough gifts from the other men and women begging for his attention.</p><p>Sakusa hardly bats an eye when he sees you sitting on his desk idly chatting with another student after his morning practice.  You’re lucky his white mask so easily hides the revulsion in his expression as he waves you off his desk with a sharp glare.  You laugh, brushing off his impertinence at your incivility, saying a quick goodbye to your classmate as you slide into your seat next to his.</p><p>Why you couldn’t continue your conversation with your classmate instead of purposely bugging him, he wasn’t sure; you were mildly popular enough, well-liked for your outgoing yet unconventional personality and admittedly good looks, so you could theoretically choose anyone else to befriend and bother.<br/>
And yet you chose him.  Him to follow around like a lost little puppy at any given opportunity, him to pester with petulant whines about your day, him to irritate with your cheerfulness and genuine contentment of life.  How… special.</p><p>“Ne, Kiyoomi-kun~” you hum, drumming your fingers along the desk as you lean your chair back to balance on its hind legs.  “How was practice this morning?”</p><p>Your mawkish sweet voice melts his brain.  He feels sick just listening to it, a headache threatening to pound away at his skull if he has to put up with any of your horseplay today.  Practice was, in fact, bad: he had flubbed a serve hard, anxious to try out a new play he had been thinking of for weeks, and ended up misanalyzing his swing.  The result is a sore wrist and a bruised ego, the third-years getting a real cackle out of seeing one of the top aces in the nation completely miss a hit.</p><p>“Fine.”  His response is short and simple, enough for you not to pester him with questions about his worse-than-usual dour mood.  He found out ignoring you only ended with more prying questions about his state of being, your concern causing bile to rise in his throat and his stomach to churn viciously.  Like a disease, you’ve infected his life from an early stage and have clung onto him all the way through high school, and the symptoms manifest the longer he’s forced to be around you.</p><p>“That’s good to hear,” you say, and he can hear the smile in your voice as he turns to grab a few notebooks out of his backpack.  Homeroom would be starting soon, and he didn’t particularly care for making meaningless conversation with you until the teacher arrives.  “Are you sure everything’s fine?  You seem a bit more tense than usual.”</p><p>He can feel his knuckles turn white, his fingernails digging into the hard flesh of his palm.  You see right through his carefully composed façade, a talent from your position as one of his only childhood “friends.”  It’s just another bullet on the long list of things he hates about you.</p><p>A deep breath in and out releases the harsh grip on himself, his shoulders visibly loosening, and he rolls them until they pop for good measure.  “I’m fine.  Thank you.”</p><p>His words are blunt and straightforward, and even though the narrowing of your eyes prove you don’t fully believe him in his assurances, you drop the subject.  You tap your fingernails against the desk and hum, eyes darting from your hands to the silent man beside you.  He can tell you want to say something, that those shifty eyes are hiding a plot of some sort, and he wishes you would just come right out and get it over with; he’ll start pulling out his hair at the sound of your antsy tics.</p><p>“Ah, Kiyoomi-kun, there’s something I want to give you after class,” you say.  For a moment, he’s worried you’re going to bestow upon him another vending machine prize, but he ditches that thought at your uncharacteristic nervousness.  You’ve never asked to give him a treat over class without specifying what it was, or at the very least, you would give him a small wink as you promise him “something sweet.”  His gaze immediately draws downwards to your delicate little hands, clenched tightly around a small slip of paper.</p><p>That piques his interest, but he reins in his deliberations before you overtake his mind.  The last thing he needed was the image of your lips whispering sybilline promises to him, your dainty fingers tapping on your chin with a charming smile.  It wouldn’t be the first time he’s gotten lost in his thoughts of you, and he’d rather save himself the migraine altogether; the last time he dwelled on your soft features for too long, his frustrations culminated through gnawing on the bottom of his t-shirt as he furiously pumped himself with his fist.</p><p>You were wholeheartedly <i>intoxicating</i> in the most putrid and noxious way possible.</p><p>“Oh?  Whatcha got to show him, puppy dog?”  A hand slams itself down on your desk, forcing a shudder down Sakusa’s spine at the sudden intrusion.  The nickname is an allusion to your tendency to trail behind Sakusa everywhere he goes (quite evidently, as it captured the attention of other students, much to Sakusa’s chagrin), like an obedient little dog.  He feels his lip twitch downwards, disgust already wiggling its way into his system at the redheaded classmate leaning over you.  Too close—he would be breathing his germs into your personal space, personal space that would eventually end up in his personal space later on their walk home—and he had half a mind to step in just to tell the boy to fuck off himself.</p><p>“Oh grow up, Komatsu,” you pout, kicking your legs back and forth.  You don’t seem too pleased with the newcomer's presence either, especially since he seemed to be prying into your private business; a taste of your own medicine, Sakusa supposes, the universe’s karma for how much you’ve meddled with his own affairs.  He watches you straighten your back as you tell the boy off, like a small bird fluffing its feathers to appear larger to a predatory hawk.  “It’s none of your business.  It’s important and it’s for Kiyoomi-kun only.”</p><p>Komatsu claps his hand together, voice raising an octave as he tilts his head like a lovesick schoolgirl, “Ah, for Kiyoomi-kun!  Well if it’s so important, then shouldn’t you show him now?”</p><p>His name in this filth’s mouth causes the hairs on the back of his neck to stand up, fists clenching white once more.  He doesn’t have time to step between your bickering if he wanted to (which he didn’t; and if he did, it would only be to get his name out Komatsu’s mouth) before the classmate snatches the small slip of paper from between your fingers, earning a startled squeak.</p><p>“Hey!  Komatsu-san, please give that back!”  You yell, rising to your feet and launching yourself at him, arm extended.  He easily sidesteps, being much taller and much faster than you, and he laughs as you stumble forward.  Your feet skid, stopping yourself before you faceplant and make the scene much worse.  Sakusa feels himself sinking into his seat as the entire class pauses to turn its attention towards your theatrics.</p><p>“No way, I wanna see, what’s inside!”  It’s when you hurl yourself at Komatsu again that Sakusa realizes that this isn’t one of your typical jests with another student.  Your eyes are wide and frenzied, practically foaming as you pull on the other's arm, attempting to yank the hand holding the paper back towards your reach.  He places a hand against your forehead and effortlessly shoves you back into a desk.</p><p>“Oh ho ho, is this a love confession, doggie?”  He teases, wiggling the now opened letter in the air.  Sakusa freezes.  A love confession—no, no, you wouldn’t be so bold as to try to give him a letter in class—especially after he’s made it so obviously clear how he wants nothing to do with you!  There's a delicate script written on the inside, formal and neat from where Sakusa can see, undoubtedly a heartfelt note akin to a confessional.</p><p>God, he’s gonna be sick.</p><p>“Komatsu-san, cut it out!  Please, this isn’t funny—”  He pulls the paper out of your reach, your fists closing around thin air.  Your attempts are getting more feverish, pushing forward to force the classmate to take long strides backwards.  “Please, just give it back.”</p><p>“No way, this is gold!  Listen to this,” Komatsu clears his throat, raising the letter to his eye-level to read out the first few lines as he weaves through your desperate movements.  “‘My dearest Kiyoomi-kun,’ that’s real cute, real cute—”</p><p>Komatsu starts reading out the letter, starting with how your affections for Sakusa started back in their childhood, on that first day he and Komori went outside to play volleyball.  His voice fluctuates as you repeatedly swipe at him, actions growing sluggish and weak as he continues down the list.  There’s nothing you can do to salvage your broken self-esteem at having your confession letter read in front of your crush, and you eventually still with tightened fists and a downturned head as you let him finish.  Every line felt like a baseball bat to the stomach for the both of you, and Sakusa clutches his mouth as Komatsu goes into detail about how much you mean to him, how he puts the stars in the sky for you everytime you see him.  It’s sick, sweet, and unabashedly you; and that’s something Sakusa can’t stomach.</p><p>The class is silent as Komatsu finishes, a shit-eating grin stretched across his face as he looks between your crestfallen form and Sakusa’s queasy state.  There isn’t a student in the class who didn’t hear the confession, and a few hushed murmurs break out amongst the classroom.  Sakusa can just barely pick up their voices, all focused on you and him, drawing far more attention to him than he would like.</p><p>“I can’t believe they wrote out that letter to him.”</p><p>“Sakusa-san’s so popular, why would they think they have a chance with him?”</p><p>“He’s not gonna accept it… is he?”</p><p>Overwhelmed.  He hears everything everyone is saying and yet nothing at all at the same time, his mind jumbled with a pounding headache that scrambles any coherent thoughts he has.  The final nail in the coffin is meeting your hopeful, teary eyes from across the room; god, they’re practically sparkling, your optimistic gaze shredding through his cold composure as you clasp your hands together, lip worried between your teeth.</p><p>He wobbles to his feet, palms fanned out against the desk to stabilize himself.  Komatsu quirks an eyebrow at the ace, opening his arms wide.  “So, Kiyoomi-kun, what’s your response?  Do you accept doggie’s confession?”</p><p>His hands are shaking.  All eyes are on him, waiting with bated breath for his response.  Regulating his breathing doesn’t help, the rage and revulsion amassing into a vile concoction deep in the pit of his stomach.  He could put up with your constant attention, useless contaminated gifts, purposeless babbling and unnecessary pouting, hell he could’ve easily spared your feelings in private if you chose to give him the letter then.  But this has gone too far; now you’ve involved him in your public affairs, brought him into the spotlight of your tomfoolery for all to gawk at; now, you’ve affected him on a deeper, personal level.</p><p>“No,” he breathes out through his nose, calming himself as he locks eyes with your frozen form.  “I do not accept your confession.  I don’t like you, and I have never liked you,” he’s breathing heavier now; you have no idea how long he’s wanted to say that to you, to tell you to fuck off in the most brutal way possible just to get you off his back for once.  It’s not like he got any sick satisfaction at seeing you shatter in the palm of his hand, but your teary eyes are certainly a glorious sight.</p><p>“And I will never like you.  You’re an annoying little bacteria that follows me around all day playing the role of friend when you just antagonize me and make me want to vomit.  I don’t have time to entertain filthy dogs like you; all I want in life is to play volleyball and feel clean.  You get in the way of both of those things.  From now on, just stay out of my way, mutt.”</p><p>The room is eerily silent as he finishes.  He takes a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose; the catharsis of his own confession soothes his raging nerves and overbearing desire to quarantine and remove himself entirely from the situation, and he’s once again at peace with himself.  When he opens his eyes again, he can’t find yours.  Your head is ducked down, arms straight by your side as you soak in the brunt of his venomous words, cutting you deep to the bone.  And he knows it.  Knows how bad that fresh wound stings, knows he hit you in a vulnerable spot.  And deep down, he knows he took it too far, if the jaw-dropped expressions of Komatsu and just about everyone in the classroom are any indication.</p><p>Strangely, he almost feels remorse… regret… </p><p>That ‘almost’ turns into something sour as you lift your head, a thin smile stretched across your cheeks.  Your face is soaked in tears, cheeks raw and flushed as your glassy eyes meet his.  Lips trembling, you open your mouth to say something, abruptly shutting it again as a fresh wave of tears stream down your face.</p><p>“I-I’m glad y-you final—” you hiccup, digging your fingernails into your skin to maintain what little scrap of composure you have left as you continue, “finally told me h-how you truly felt.  Thank y-you, Sakusa-san.”</p><p>You dip your head into a quick bow, head lowered as you rush out the room wildly wiping at your eyes and face with the sleeves of your school uniform blazer.  He watches you exit, waits a brief second as he hears your footsteps echo and disappear down the hall before turning his stern gaze back to the students still trained on him.  Without another word, he sits back down and opens up one of his notebooks.</p><p>He tunes out the murmur of his classmates, and class begins soon after.  You don’t come back to the classroom for homeroom, nor when the teachers switch for their corresponding subjects.  The fleeting notion of your tear streaked face and puffy eyes cross his mind, your lips wobbling pathetically from his harsh words, but he pushes it out of mind as he scribbles down whatever kanji the professor had written on the board.</p><p>And, when he walks to the afternoon club meeting, he’s alone.  Komori gives him a questioning look at his lack of his personal chaperone, sending forlorn glances over his shoulder when Sakusa tells him you went home early.  He doesn’t delve much further than that, but his cousin is smart enough to pick up on the context clues of his tone and body posture.  He was always good at reading him—much like you, unfortunately.</p><p>The walk home is much like his day absent of you; uneventful, quiet.  It's as if the air itself is fresher, allowing him to breathe in clean oxygen not contaminated by your (previously) permanent occupancy.  A smile makes its way onto his face at the thought.</p><p>Regrettably, his peace and quiet doesn’t last for long—because it’s too quiet for too long.</p><p>You don’t greet him at the corner of the block the next morning, a backpack slung over your shoulder and a spring in your step as you ask him how he slept.  His long strides, which would easily force your tiny legs to nearly jog just to keep up with him, now compete with no one, having nobody to outrun or effetely attempt to shake off.  There’s no wrapped bento box or packaged treat waiting for him on his desk during homeroom, a worthless routine he’s become accustomed to welcoming him after early morning practice everyday.  Your voice doesn't waft through the air like sweet vanilla and cinnamon in a small town bakery, your inane laugh not greeting his ears throughout the class whenever the opportunity for conversation arose.  His senses are empty and sterile without your smooth sugary scent, without the sight of your soft, small body pressing far too close for comfort against his.</p><p>He doesn’t miss you, not in the slightest.  The only time he allows himself to even dwell upon the mere thought of you is in the comfort of his own shower, where he’s able to cleanse himself and his vulgar fascinations with clenched teeth and a tight fist, pounding his cock to your dishevelled, distraught form.  Somehow, he feels even dirtier stepping out of the shower post-release than he did before his thorough bruising scrub down.</p><p>This becomes his new routine for the next few days.  Komori becomes increasingly annoyed with Sakusa’s evasions of his questions and lack of communication with his other best friend, and he seeks you out himself in your home.  Needless to say, Komori isn’t pleased with his cousin’s public declaration of hatred; that’s the first time he’s felt a twinge of guilt at his harsh actions.  It’s why he doesn’t like to dwell on it.</p><p>At the end of the week, you make your grand reappearance.  He walks into the homeroom to find you sitting in your own desk, papers scattered about your desk as you frantically make up for your lost days of work.  You don’t acknowledge him as he slides into his assigned desk beside you, not even sparing him a glimpse.  That’s fine by him; he only offers you a small once-over in return, eyeing the dark undereye circles and hollow cheeks, and he forces himself to look away for fear of getting sick.  You must’ve had a fever these past few days.  That would explain your absence, and he’s joyous that you stayed home instead of infecting him with your germs.</p><p>Just before the teacher arrives, you mumble a quiet, “Good morning, Sakusa-san.”</p><p>It’s a brief flash of your old liveliness, yet your voice holds none of the enthusiastic optimism you previously held.  For the better, he thinks.  You could use a touch of realism.</p><p>Life returns to normal, with a few exceptions: you still meet him at the corner of the street with a smile and a good morning, asking him how he’s slept, but you keep your distance from him as opposed to sidling up shoulder to shoulder with the looming ace; there are no more treats, bentos, drinks, or snacks of any kind waiting for him on his desk or gifted to him as he’s passed in the hall, something he’s entirely grateful for; and while you still trail behind him like a lost puppy, the students of his class deem you a new nickname:</p><p>Mutt.</p><p>Like a kicked stray limping back to its owner after being beaten and tossed out, you’re desperate for affection and the love previously experienced through the cruelty of a sadistic god.  You don’t whimper and stick your tail between your legs when he yells or raises his hand, but you do keep your little quips to yourself for the majority of the time.  Your steps linger a little farther behind his, determined to give him the space he so desperately craved.  On the rare occasions he initiates conversation with you, whether to tell you something about class that day or ask you to do something for him, your eyes practically light up, and your invisible tail wags side-to-side behind you.  Who knew your little outburst with the love letter could have such a positive effect on your behaviour; he almost feels compelled to pat you on the head and praise you for your patience and your considerations.  It would be perfect, if it didn’t stir up a strange feeling in his stomach, that peculiar buzz that makes him want to both vomit and sneak away to settle his primal urges.</p><p>The nickname isn’t as nice as your previous.  Your fellow students spit out the word ‘mutt’ with malice and ridicule, taking every opportunity to loudly whisper mockeries of your pathetic behaviour whenever you entered the room.  The mutt who confessed to the popular Sakusa Kiyoomi, was publicly rejected by the top third ace in the nation, and still shadowed him like a loyal hound.</p><p>It’s oddly fitting, he thinks.  Maybe he should get you a collar.</p><p>And he’s perfectly fine with that, the jabbing insults, whispered scorn, and your slowly decreasing circle of friends.  Because for once, the consequences of your actions don’t affect him in the slightest.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>(Confession scene is loosely based off of Muge's confession from A Whisker Away!)</p><p>I hope you've enjoyed!  I have an idea of how I'd like to continue this story (I'm leaving it at finished, just in case), but I'm also quite content with this as a one-shot!</p><p>Please let me know if you want more of this, I would greatly appreciate it ( ^▽^)ψ__</p></blockquote></div></div>
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